The Postcard Killers

    “What do you think of the fact that you’ve introduced to Scandinavia the Anglo-Saxon tradition of paying large amounts of money to brutal serial killers?”

    “I think you’ve completely misunderstood that,” she replied, trying to sound calm and confident. “I haven’t paid any money to -”

    “But you tried to! ” the reporter cried indignantly. “You wanted to buy interviews with brutal serial killers. Do you really think it’s morally defensible to pay for their violent deeds?”

    Dessie swallowed before she spoke again.

    “Well, firstly, not a single penny has been paid, and secondly, it wasn’t my decision to -”

    “Do you think you’ve made yourself complicit in the crime itself?” the reporter yelled. “What’s the difference between paying for a murder and paying for the details of a murder?”

    Dessie finally pushed the microphone aside and walked away from the rude, stupid man.

    “Let it go,” Jacob said in her ear.

    He was right beside her, struggling to keep up. He hadn’t understood the exchange, but the content and spirit of it were all too clear to him.

    “After this disaster, Duvall will be clutching at straws. In less than ten minutes’ time he’ll be asking us to interview the Rudolphs,” Jacob continued. Dessie took a deep breath and pushed the Eko reporter from her mind. It turned out that Jacob was right.

    It took seven minutes.

Chapter 81

    IT WAS ALREADY AFTERNOON WHEN Malcolm and Sylvia were led separately into the interrogation room where Dessie and Jacob sat waiting for them.

    Sylvia gave a small squeal of delight when she saw her brother. They gave each other an emotional hug before the officers escorting them pulled them apart.

    Dessie had expected to be nervous before the meeting, but her anger and determination had pushed aside most feelings of that sort. She was quite convinced that the Rudolphs were the Postcard Killers. Now she and Jacob had to pull the rug out from under them. Somehow. But where to begin?

    She studied each of them. They really were strikingly attractive. Malcolm was trim but also muscular, and in all the right places. Dessie guessed that he must have swallowed a good number of anabolic steroids. Sylvia was extremely thin, but her breasts were plump and round. Silicone, of course. The man had much fairer skin and hair than his sister, but they had the same eyes: the same shade of light gray, with long eyelashes that only added to their allure and magnetism.

    They were clearly overjoyed to see each other again. They settled down side by side on the other side of the table and seemed relaxed and happy to be there.

    Dessie realized immediately that they hadn’t recognized her. They’d never seen a picture byline of her in the paper, and they evidently hadn’t Googled her picture before they sent the postcard to her at Aftonposten. Dessie and Jacob let the pair settle in, and they did not introduce themselves. Their expressions were completely neutral and they didn’t take the initiative.

    The siblings smiled contentedly and looked around the room. They were considerably more alert now than they had been during their questioning that morning. The change of questioners had evidently livened them up.

    “So,” Sylvia said, “what shall we talk about now?”

    Dessie didn’t change her expression.

    “I’ve got a few questions about your interest in art,” she said, and the brother and sister stretched their backs and smiled even more confidently.

    “How nice,” Sylvia said. “What are you wondering about? How can we help?”

    “Your attitude toward art and reality,” Dessie said. “I’m thinking about the murders in Amsterdam and Berlin, for instance. The killers mimicked two real people, Nefertiti and Vincent van Gogh.”

    Both Sylvia and Malcolm looked at her, a little wide-eyed. Their contented expressions were replaced by one of watchful interest.

    “I’ll explain,” Dessie said. “It isn’t at all clear that the Egyptian queen Nefertiti was missing her left eye. It’s just that the bust of her in the Neues Museum is. Yet you still took out Karen’s and Billy’s eyes. I suppose you chose to imitate the art and not the person, didn’t you?”

    Sylvia laughed.

    “This might even be exciting, your theory, this line of questioning,” she said, “if it wasn’t so crazy and absurd.”

    “Do you know how I realized it?” Dessie said. “Lindsay and Jeffrey -

    you remember them? - the British couple you killed in Amsterdam. You cut off their right ears, even though van Gogh cut off his left. But in the painting, his self-portrait, the bandage is on the right-hand side, of course, because he was painting his reflection. So you chose to re-create the artworks, rather than the people themselves.”

    “This is obviously going nowhere,” Sylvia said. “I thought you were going to ask us some questions that might help catch the killers.”

    “We are,” Jacob said, turning to Malcolm. “Where have you hidden your disguise?”

Chapter 82